First Do No Harm
by Chase998
Summary: Sydney reflects on his time at the Centre and his hand in Jarod’s incarceration. One shot.


**First Do No Harm**

Blue Cove, Delaware was the unsuspecting town harboring a dirty secret known as the Centre. Blue Cove's residents were ignorant of the inner workings and activities that occurred inside the monstrous building that had been dubbed a "think tank", a giant stone fortress on the shores of an Atlantic cape. The people in town were satisfied that the Centre meant a steady economy. No one asked what went on inside the walls, and they were monetarily blessed for their discretion. Restaurants, bars and hotels did a steady business, and the mystery of the Centre's operations was forgotten after a few years. Most people were satisfied that its operations were secret, and they left it at that.

Not all the residents of Blue Cove were satisfied with the pat "top secret" answer, though. Some who had lived in the small seaside town since before the Centre's construction had their own opinions about people who had gone in but never came out of the giant structure. Control had been exerted in the right places to quell the voices of such people. The Centre could ill afford that public inquiries be made into its operations.

The people in the town had come to ignore the building over time. Life continued on happily, the residents purposefully oblivious to Centre operations that translated into revenue for local businesses. They were satisfied to have food on the table and a decent tourist rate.

Sydney sat in the Oceanview Café and watched the people of Blue Cove going about their lives. If they only knew what he and others had done in that building, he would never make it to the door alive. They would be justified in their outrage and anger at the atrocities forever ensconced in the bowels of the Centre's stone foundation. The eyes of society would reward them if they exacted instant justice on those who perpetrated the Centre's activities. More than that, it would be a proper justice for Sydney, for his guilt was undeniable. In the end, the Centre's operatives would pay – one and all – for their sins. This was one small comfort in his mind.

He caught his reflection in a mirror on the opposite wall. He looked and felt like an old man. Where had the young doctor gone who was documented so many times on Centre surveillance cameras? Sin could take a toll on the body. Guilt was even more destructive. He held both heavily in his heart. His eyes looked dark, and he could not remember the last time they were bright. For most of his adult life, Sydney had been in the employ of the Centre, working amid men and women who played a complex game of good versus evil. At some point along the way, the intent of the Centre had changed. It had been transformed into an agenda that far exceeded the best interests of the free world. The shift in goals removed the benevolence toward national security in Eisenhower's America and replaced it with a cult-like Tribunal that passed judgment over Centre operatives, determining who lived and who died and who would remain captives in its service.

Months had turned into years as Sydney performed his job with superior ability. He had been charged with developing the Pretenders – people who could adapt to any environment or task. They would be subjected to simulations of crises or situations where seemingly unknown variables could be discovered and acted upon to enact or prevent such an occurrence. Of all the Pretenders Sydney had cultivated, by far the most unique and superior had been a boy named Jarod. The boy had been presented as a test subject and had immediately been drafted into the Centre when he exceeded all previous testing standards for gifted children.

Jarod became Sydney's responsibility, his project. The boy's parents were never to be seen again during his childhood. Even in adulthood, Jarod's attempts to find his parents were thwarted by the Centre, so eager to reel their best Pretender back into their service.

Sydney could not bring himself to betray Jarod and be a party to his capture. Jarod's escape from the Centre was a crucial blow to the success of the Pretender program. No longer did the program have the unique abilities of the sheltered boy whose mind could see into the dark web of the unknown and find the answers to impossible questions. The boy had grown into a man, one who at last found another dark answer – this time, about himself - and realized what it had meant all the years spent at the Centre. Jarod had taught others how to kill and destroy. Now, on the run from those who intended to bring him back by any means, he was on a mission to make up for those sins – atonement for the past.

Atonement.

Sydney worked toward that, too, though he doubted he would ever achieve his goal. In his mind, there was no way he could ever repay that which was stolen from a trusting young boy. Moreover, he could not fathom a way to gain forgiveness for his sins in the name of the Centre. Sydney was a thief of youth and life.

Something dropped onto the table, snapping him from his reverie. A red notebook sat before him, its cover closed. Miss Parker took the seat on the other side of the table, looking wickedly bemused. Her eyes were alert as she sat down, dressed in a black leather jacket. She wore all black, in fact, reflecting her apparent mood. She casually smoothed back her dark hair, then took a sip from a glass of water on the table. Sydney inferred rather easily that the woman was annoyed. It was not hard to decipher, since Miss Parker was annoyed on a regular basis at anything concerning Jarod. Today, however, her agitation seemed more intense. She had yet to capture her target, and that grated on her nerves. The Centre had assigned her to capture their Pretender, to bring him back one way or another. To her credit, she had been better at it than anyone else who had attempted such a feat despite her failures.

"You seem upset, Miss Parker," Sydney said evenly. "Is something the matter?"

She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, clasping her fingers together. She grinned and said, "It seems the Boy Wonder has righted another societal wrong."

Sydney said nothing, but he made no attempt to conceal the amused smile forming on his lips. "He has been quite busy lately, hasn't he?" he answered finally.

"This time, he's saved a neighborhood from chemicals that were dumped in a public garden. Not as flashy as his other adventures, but still heroic for a man with no last name. The picture of him on page four posing with the crippled kids is quite touching," she continued, leaving her sarcasm unchecked.

"Go on," he encouraged, knowing her tirade had only begun.

"In ways unique only to Jarod, he left a trail for us to find his latest book."

"Bouquets of roses?"

"No," she said, her loathing growing, "rolls of toilet paper."

Sydney fought hard to suppress his laughter as he imagined the scene. "And where did it lead?" he asked, turning to the fourth page in the notebook.

The malicious, sarcastic grin on her face feigned a brief innocence. "To a pile of gardening manure."

Sydney's hands instinctively leapt off the pages of the book.

"Relax," she groused, her mirth fading, "he wrapped it in plastic."

Sydney tentatively lowered his hands to the book again and began flipping through the pages. As usual, there were newspaper clippings and photos chronicling the Pretender's work. Sydney had always viewed the contents of the books as Jarod's sorrowful confession of guilt, as though his past had come to trial. The books were not meant to exonerate but to plead for mercy for his part in spreading death to the innocent. It would not matter to Jarod that he was innocent of all charges because he was only a boy. Jarod would never allow that.

As Miss Parker had noted, there was a photograph on page four of Jarod standing behind two children in wheelchairs. The accompanying articles told of a tenement in Indianapolis where buried barrels of toxic waste had been seeping up through the ground. Jarod's fingerprint of assistance was apparent throughout the story. He had done it again. He had managed another measure of atonement and had moved on to his next cause.

"Manure, hmmm?" Sydney said softly. He looked up at her, still smiling. "The correlation to the Centre is uncanny."

"Be that as it may," she said, leaning even further into the table, "his trail has turned cold again. That creates a very big problem for me when I hear the wheels of an oxygen tank roll into my office."

"Raines is pressuring you again?" he asked in all seriousness.

Her face became hard with agitation. "I'll give you one guess." Her voice lowered, but not her ire. "I swear, if Jarod and Raines were standing side by side, it would be hard to decide who to shoot first."

Sydney was tempted to give his opinion, but he held his words. If Parker knew half of the things Raines had done at the Centre, even she would have no trouble discerning who deserved a bullet. He seriously doubted Parker would even take a shot at Jarod at all. The two shared a unique childhood, one fraught with loss and imprisonment. They had been robbed of their innocence at such young ages that Miss Parker would be at a loss to deny the camaraderie formed by those experiences.

"Where is he, Sydney?"

"Miss Parker, I don't . . ."

"Spare me, Syd. You have to have some idea of where he's gone." She sat back in her chair, crossing one slender leg over the other. "You're making my job very difficult," she said, the muscles in her jaw twitching.

He picked up his teacup and took a casual, measured sip. He gently set it down again and said, "Have you ever truly considered what it is you're doing by searching for Jarod? Have you thought about who benefits from his return to the Centre?"

"Save the conspiracy theory for another time. I have a job to do, and you're nothing but a walking roadblock. The Centre wants Jarod back, and that's exactly what I am going to give them."

"Because that's what your father has ordered you to do?"

She tensed visibly at the accusation. "My father has his reasons for wanting Jarod back, none of which are my concern."

"Perhaps they should be," he answered quietly.

She smiled, but it was not in a kind way. "I'm not going to debate Centre policy with you, and I'm certainly not going to put Daddy on trial with you as judge and jury."

"Miss Parker, there are questions from your past you want answered. The only way you'll find out the truth is to challenge what you see now. Trust me when I tell you that everything is not as it seems."

She issued a quiet chuckle. "Do I look dense? I have no doubt that there are secrets in the Centre. That's why we have men with guns at the doors."

"But _why_ are they so desperate to get Jarod back?" he asked emphatically. "You have to answer that question for yourself before it's too late."

His words were solemn yet effective. She paused, looking at him intently. The muscles in her jaw twitched again. "I'll find my answers, Sydney, and God help whoever stands in my way. That includes you."

He sighed and leaned against the back of his chair, slouching back with a feeling akin to exhaustion. "You're so damned stubborn."

"Yes, I am," she said decisively.

At that moment, her cell phone rang. She answered it with an icy demeanor. The conversation was short, and she ended the call.

"Broots has something," she told Sydney, standing from the table.

She reached for the notebook, and he grabbed her wrist gently to get her undivided attention. She flinched but did not pull away from his grasp. Their eyes locked again.

"The clock is ticking, Miss Parker. The time remaining to find the truth is running out. Don't waste it looking for Jarod. Look for your answers instead."

Parker eased herself from his hand, taking hold of the notebook. She said nothing in return, merely taking the book and turning on her heel to leave. He watched her walk away, seeing her surreptitious glance back in his direction. Then she was gone.

A gentle breeze passed through the cafe, and Sydney closed his eyes at the scent of the ocean that rode upon it. He wanted to believe he had convinced Parker to seek the truth, but he knew that her unabated anger at the world would most likely divert her attention to the task of capturing Jarod. Her search for her mother's killer would be diluted by lies and misdirection perpetrated by her father, just as it always had been.

The sun was beginning to set, the Atlantic already shadowed by night. Daylight was fading, and so was his time to save the boy whose life he had taken. The only way to protect Jarod was to be a part of the very search conducted for his capture. He would do what was necessary to protect Jarod because that was the one way Sydney reasoned he could begin to atone for his sins.

With deliberate effort, Sydney stood from the table and paid his bill. He then stepped onto the street and began his return to the stone fortress with the black soul.


End file.
